


you asked to walk me home (but i had to carry you)

by larrymurphycansteponme (thomasthorne)



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Post-Season/Series 05, catra actively working to become a better person, perfuma being a pisces icon, scorpia learning to love herself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25085479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thomasthorne/pseuds/larrymurphycansteponme
Summary: Scorpia stares at Catra, walking ten paces in front of her with her fists clenched at her sides.Are they even still friends?or, scorpia gets all the good things in life because it’s what she fucking deserves
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Bow/Glimmer (She-Ra), Catra & Scorpia (She-Ra), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Perfuma/Scorpia (She-Ra)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 154





	you asked to walk me home (but i had to carry you)

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY SCORPIA WHOOOOOOOO  
> i started writing this the day after punisher by phoebe bridgers came out because whilst i was listening to moon song (title song, you should listen to it) i was like shit i rlly relate to this and then i realised scorpia would too because i kin her 😌  
> anyways this is very self indulgent because i, as a pisces, adore writing catra, scorpia and perfuma because they’re all also water signs and that’s very sexy of them. i hope you enjoy!!!!!!

Sometimes, Scorpia felt like she’d said it. She’d told Catra exactly how she felt, laid herself out to be meticulously and explicitly dissected so that she’d see. She’d see that every single part of her, down to marrow and sinew and tendons, all of it, was for her.

Belonging is a concept that fascinated Scorpia after all. It was something that always escaped her, the embodiment of everything that doesn’t intersect, match, belong. Horde princess. The perfect oxymoron, the cadet that no one wanted to be friends with, the royal who was shunned for the soil she was born on. And Catra was the first person, to Scorpia at least, who didn’t care about that. She felt outrage and she felt anger in a way that Scorpia never could. She was bitter and strong-headed and Scorpia can still remember exactly what she said when she found out about her childhood, her history. The way she found her feet and spoke with such a certainty, for Scorpia.

Scorpia thought it was for her, anyway.

But now the war is won and Catra doesn’t talk to her anymore, and Scorpia thought she was over her when she fears she isn’t. Something is still sitting inside of her, in her ribs, a familiar ache or longing or... something, and she feels as though she has to flush it out. She tried. She tried over and over again to tell Catra this sad truth, but it never clicked for her. Scorpia would give Catra every piece of herself as a gift, and she’d see it as anything but that. A disgusting, dead little bird that a cat drags to your doorstep, maybe.

They’re on a scouting mission through the Fright Zone, two weeks since the end of the war. Somehow, Bow, Adora and Perfuma managed to head off in the direction of the foundry fast enough to leave Scorpia and Catra stuck together, tasked with searching the forge for any salvageable resources. And as they walk in silence down the crumbling corridors of their home, pitter-patter of childhood memories ghosting them, spiralling plant roots digging into the concrete and splitting it up further, Scorpia can’t help but feel like she’s going to throw up. She stares at Catra, walking ten paces in front of her with her fists clenched at her sides.

Are they even still friends?

They had a small moment of reconciliation, a hug, careful smiles, but all of that was in the sweeping rush of post-war euphoria, and Catra quickly disappeared afterwards. Faded into obscurity, a dull and dying star, having barely left Adora’s room in the Bright Moon castle since they got back there.

It’s Scorpia’s fault. She makes Catra uncomfortable. She hurt Catra, in so many ways, abandoned her when she promised she never would, gave up on her. There’s this horrible compulsion that’s been sitting on Scorpia’s chest ever since Catra joined the rebellion and it’s a familiar one too, one she thought she’d never have to deal with again after she left the Fright Zone.

She shouldn’t be scared of Catra. She shouldn’t be.

“So—” she draws out the ‘o’— “this is, uh, this is kinda fun. Right?”

Catra’s ear twitches. Scorpia chews the inside of her cheek.

“I mean, it’s sort of boring but still! Exciting to think about tearing this place down, finally,” she laughs. “Gosh, there’s gonna be so much to do and I— I don’t even know what I want the new place to look like yet, you know? Like, all the other princesses have a style and I—”

“It doesn’t matter right now,” Catra says, her tone strained. Her foot nudges a broken bot, one that’s crumpled up in on itself, and the shards of glass sitting around it clink together. “We’re just looking for scrap.”

For some reason, Scorpia hadn’t expected to get shot down so soon. “I— I know,” she tries, “I was just making conversation. Uh—”

“Well don’t.”

“Catra—”

“ _What_?”

And maybe Scorpia would’ve said something. Maybe she would’ve dragged that small piece of flatten courage out of her heart and stood up for herself, but her eyes widen as she takes Catra in; hands trembling, teeth gritted, the waver in her voice more noticeable than she might have liked. Catra is currently standing in a place that she hates, one riddled with nothing but bad memories, and she’s stuck here with Scorpia, who she also hates, and this isn’t her fault. It couldn’t be, because nothing is ever Catra’s fault. She’s had a hard life and she might’ve done a lot of bad things but Scorpia can see past that because she’s a good person and she’s allowed to treat her like this if it makes her feel better.

There it is again. That compulsion. Scorpia wants Catra to be happy more than anything, so she will stand tall and silent and ready, and when Catra lashes out, she takes it. And if Catra ever stumbles, if she trips on her own guilt and tries to apologise, Scorpia will say, no, step on me again, please. Because Catra thinks Scorpia is stupid and Scorpia _knows_ she’s stupid, and if she complains then Catra will go away. And she’ll still hate herself, and Scorpia won’t have fixed her. That compulsion, it’s that wanting-to-be-stepped-on feeling.

“Nothing,” she says, and she smiles. Why does she have a stomachache? Scorpia told herself she wasn’t going to do this ever again and yet, being here, alone with Catra, it just feels how it used to. Scorpia, scared, desperate to please, and Catra knowing it full well. Using it to her advantage.

For a moment, Catra just stares at her and nothing is okay and everything is alright. And then, she cracks. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

“I—”

“Just—” Catra is holding her hands out in front of her, but they’re clenching and unclenching and Scorpia can’t help but flinch— “stop. Stop letting me do this. For _once_ in your life could you just get mad at me, or, or tell me no or something?” she says.

Scorpia blinks. “I’m sor—”

“No, I’m—” jabbing her own chest with her index finger, Catra bites her other pinky and stares down at the floor— “forget it. I didn’t say anything.”

No, step on me again, please. Please. That’s a word that Scorpia knows inside and out, having spent her whole life begging for everything. For love. All she wants in this moment is to tell Catra it’s okay, she’s not hurt, if she’s mad at her for something she can say it. And yet there’s a tiny part of her, this wriggling scribble of warmth that screams she shouldn’t. More than often, Scorpia disregards that part of herself. It’s selfish and needy and it makes her a worse person, but... Perfuma says being selfish isn’t an inherently bad thing. And Perfuma makes Scorpia happy, even if she’s not sure she deserves it, even if she never asked for that from Perfuma, never did anything to warrant it.

Love is to be earned, and whilst Catra earned Scorpia’s love, she is still gifting her that same old rotting bird, and each time Catra will send her away because it’s not good enough. At least, until the next time she wants Scorpia.

That’s what Scorpia doesn’t understand about Catra; how she can want Scorpia, but not love her. She will zip up the back of her prom dress and when they get back home, Catra’s genuinely elated, even agrees to dance with Scorpia because she didn’t get the chance, and then she’ll unzip her dress too, but in the morning she’s crippled again with that same coldness. She will throw her that jacket, a matching jacket, smile at her with a real and rare Catra smile Scorpia has never seen before, drag her outside of the party by her claw, laugh like she’s actually happy for once, but one conversation with Adora and all of that is gone.

Scorpia used to just wait until the next time Catra wanted her, wait until she realised she couldn’t stick her tongue down the throat of someone who loved her more, and then she would, and then she’d leave again. Turn her on and turn her down. Because, all that time, she never _loved_ Scorpia.

There is something that Scorpia is supposed to say in this moment, but she can’t remember what it is. It’s something small and weak and stupid, it’s the permission slip for Catra to step on her again, but she can’t quite croak it out. That wriggling scribble of warmth, something resolute and certain, tells her not to. Tells her she’s worth something still if she doesn’t.

“I’m sorry, Scorpia,” Catra says, so sudden, cutting through Scorpia’s train of thought immediately. She frowns, unused to hearing that.

“It’s fine.”

But Catra just sighs. “It’s not.”

“Well—” and she squashes down that scribble, lets the compulsion smother it— “it’s not a big deal. I don’t want you to feel bad about it.”

“So you just let me treat you like that and I still feel bad about it anyway?” Catra finally tears her eyes away from the floor to meet Scorpia’s gaze, and it makes her heart twist in a way that it hasn’t before. Her hair makes her look so much softer. “I thought— Perfuma said you got better, but clearly this is just going to be the same as it used to be and I don’t want to do that to you—”

“Why would you feel bad about it if I said it didn’t bother me?” Scorpia asks, selectively ignoring everything else Catra is saying. That part, it stuck in between her ribs and now it’s difficult to breathe.

Catra stares at her like she’s just sprouted a second head. “Because I care about you?”

_Oh_.

Do you know that feeling, where everything just seems a bit hazy? And it’s so frustrating, because you know how sharp and defined all of these shapes should be but even your anger is dulled in this state, like a dusty mirror or the fuzz of a jumper? Right now, for Scorpia, there is only one thing tangible in the entire world and it’s those words, words she spent her entire life waiting to hear, and even when the end was near they hadn’t quite fallen on her ears. Maybe people had spoken them to her with their actions, but that always left such a terrifying uncertainty for Scorpia, that she’d misread something and overstepped a boundary and— well. She kinda gets rejected a lot. Why wouldn’t she struggle to believe actions speak louder than words, when convincing herself of that fact is what broke her heart over and over and over again?

This is clarity. The blade of a knife that cuts through all that dust on the mirror, the fuzz of your jumper, clean and perfect, and goes for the gut. The gut which is so soft and squishy and warm, the gut that feels everything so much more viscerally. So much for stomachache.

“And I know I’m really shit at showing it,” Catra continues with a wet little laugh, “but I don’t think you know that. Which is my fault. And I’ve been avoiding you because I thought that’s what you wanted, but the others set us up to do this dumb mission together so I figured, oh, I was wrong and— and you’re still doing the same stuff. And that’s my fault too and I don’t know how to _fix_ it.” Sniffling, she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and rubs her nose.

“I... I didn’t think you wanted to. To fix it.”

“Fair.”

Scorpia bites her bottom lip. “I just want you to be happy. To like yourself. And I— I thought that I made you feel better.”

“You do,” Catra says, “but... I treat you like shit and then feel bad about it the next morning and you— it’s not your fault but you make me feel like I shouldn’t. And then we’re both just miserable.” She wraps her arms around herself.

“Do you think we could ever actually be friends?”

“I don’t know,” she breathes, and the honesty of it is enough to push Scorpia into the deep end, where she can’t reach the bottom of Catra, where they’re incompatible and doomed from the start and anything but made for one another.

But Scorpia made herself for Catra. To belong to Catra.

She sniffs. “Yeah.”

“Scorpia,” Catra says, “that doesn’t mean we can’t try. You know, considering we’ve been ignoring each other for the past two weeks and I’m actually willing to now.”

Trying. Trying was all Scorpia ever wanted Catra to do, and eventually she gave up on that wish. She’d seen Catra trying in these past few weeks, trying with Adora, trying with Bow and Glimmer and the other princesses, and particularly Perfuma. Scorpia had sort of assumed though, with their complete lack of interaction, that Catra wasn’t willing to try for her.

Why would she be? Catra never loved Scorpia.

“If it really doesn’t work out, then that’s okay,” Catra continues. “I really hurt you and I get that. I’ll respect your stance no matter what because I—” and that’s when she chokes on her words. Scorpia doesn’t quite catch it at first, but when she does she’s so glad she did. Weakly, Catra smiles at her. “I love you.”

“You love me?”

This incredulous frown creeps across Catra’s face. “Why does everyone keep— _yes_.”

They stand in silence for a moment, as that settles on the floor in the space between them, mixes with the dust and lingers in the rubble, before Catra asks in a small voice, “Can I hug you?”

Scorpia’s breath catches in her throat.

“Yeah.”

As it turns out, Catra is a pretty good hugger. She wraps her arms around Scorpia’s waist and buries her face into her chest, and holds her like this delicate little thing that needs to be so desperately cared for. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, and Scorpia can feel tears soaking into her shirt as she hugs Catra back, “that I never told you that before. And it’s not... in the way that you wanted. Especially when I let you believe it was.” She lets that settle for a moment, just a moment, before continuing, “But I do. And I just— yeah. So. There you go.”

Scorpia looks down at her, with her big and imploring eyes, and for once she feels she isn’t asking for something from Catra. “I love you too,” she says, hesitating before she adds, “and... it’s not in that way. Not anymore.” She squeezes Catra tighter. “I’m so glad that Adora makes you happy and— and you’re here and you’re okay and you want to try because—”

“Hey, hey—” Catra pats her back gently and stifles a sob— “I’m glad you’re okay too.”

Because she loves her.

Scorpia’s heart feels full in this moment, sure, but she’s not sure it’s been completed by Catra. This revelation is important, and she’d hold onto it at the end of everything, but it’s not her be-all and end-all. Because as Scorpia thinks of all the times Catra told her she loves her with her actions, she’s flooded with thoughts of positive affirmations and warm smiles and an unwavering belief in her competency that made her heart so much more whole without Catra: Perfuma. Perfuma helped Scorpia to heal and grow more than Catra in this moment, even if she wavered and relapsed, even if she wondered if she was even really over it. She is. Of course she is. She remembers what Perfuma told her once, about how sometimes the hurt will swamp you, but that doesn’t mean you’re not moving on. Up and down days, she said.

“By the way,” Scorpia says, her smile spreading into a grin, “you’re a really good hugger.”

Catra huffs a laugh. “Shut up.” But then, she looks up at Scorpia with wide eyes and a worried expression. “I— I mean, don’t actually shut up. I’m not— that was a dumb thing to say and I—”

“Hey, we’ll work our way there.”

That compulsion screams at her to throw in some reassurance, let Catra believe her feelings weren’t hurt by that. But they were, they were, so she won’t reject Catra recognising her mistake, and she won’t let her think that it’s okay. Maybe it will be one day, once they’ve grown and healed, but not today. Today, their wounds are fresh and the rest of their lives have only just begun, and they have forever to reach that point.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Are you scared of me?” Catra asks, and Scorpia’s shoulders go tense. “I won’t be mad,” she continues, “I just wanna know. So I can fix it.”

Scorpia swallows down the slimy feeling of dread rising in her throat. “... sometimes.”

“I’m sorry.”

Scorpia doesn’t say anything.

“Do you want the others to know?” she asks, voice smaller now. “I mean, not everything but, like, I don’t think they really get it.” She snorts. “Adora just thinks we had a falling out because she, Sparkles and Arrow Boy have probably never experienced anything worse than that. And I don’t want people to think you’re being weird because it’s— it’s hard. And it might not work.”

And for a moment, Scorpia dwells on that. The only people that really _get_ what happened between her and Catra other than them are Perfuma and Entrapta. It’s not like the others haven’t experienced similar shit, been traumatised in the way Perfuma told Scorpia she probably is, but it’s difficult in this circumstance. Because Catra did it. Catra, who everyone is so ready to forgive and love and care for, destroyed Scorpia’s heart and changed the way she perceives love for the worst. That doesn’t mean they can’t be friends again, but it means that things could be more difficult. It means that Catra has to do a lot better and Scorpia might need others to remind her of her worth, how she doesn’t have to be treated in a certain way to be loved.

“Maybe,” Scorpia says. “I mean, Perfuma knows a lot already.”

“Yeah—” Catra nods— “Perfuma’s good. She gave me a piece of her mind about it already.”

“What? When?”

Catra groans. “Look, it was just— when we were planning the Fright Zone rescue mission I was being my charming self and she stood up for you.” And then, mumbling this last part, she adds, “She really cares about you.”

“She— yeah.”

Something flickers across Catra’s face. Bemusement. But, whatever she might’ve been thinking, she drops it. “Okay—” pulling away, she clears her throat— “uh, we should probably finish searching this dump.” She kicks a loose piece of concrete with her foot, part of it powdering upon impact.

“Yeah, I really don’t think there’s anything here,” Scorpia says, glancing around the large, empty room. The claw that used to hang suspended from the ceiling has since crashed down onto the platform they’re standing on and left a miniature crater.

Catra snorts. “Bow and Perfuma I can believe setting us up for some fucking impromptu therapy, but Adora? That was unexpected.”

“Well, she cares about you.”

“Yeah, but her way of dealing with, like, all emotion ever is to just punch shit,” Catra tells her, grin growing on her face. And Scorpia takes her in, the way her new haircut frames her face and rounds it, how the creases on her forehead have smoothed out since she last saw her. She doesn’t necessarily look happy, but she’s content. Growing.

It’s like, nothing is okay and everything is alright.

That compulsion sits beaten and alone on the floor amidst broken machinery and splintering support beams. As the two of them head for the exit, side by side, Scorpia doesn’t even look back.

“Maybe,” she says, “she’s growing? You know, since you’re not the only one who needs to do that.”

Catra laughs. “Okay, that’s fair.” And then, she hesitates. “I... I was kind of thinking about starting to meditate. Uh, just because Perfuma said she’d help me with it if I wanted and—”

“You? Meditating?”

“I _know_.”

Scorpia smiles softly. “You should try it. Perfuma is— I mean, it’s not really for me, you know, sitting still. And, uh, being quiet—” her eyes dart over to Catra— “but she’s really good at it. And explaining how it works. So, yeah.”

For a moment, Catra doesn’t say anything. Scorpia can see the cogs ticking behind her eyes though, whirring around and processing what she’s just said. Oh. Catra is actually listening to her. “Are you guys, uh, you know—” she twiddles her index fingers around in a circular motion— “a thing?”

“What?”

“What?” Catra’s face flushes red. “I— I was just wondering, not in a weird way, just—”

“No, we’re—” Scorpia catches herself. Her face feels like it’s burning, and she clears her throat. “We’re just friends.”

“Right.”

Silence.

“I’m serious.”

Catra’s eyes narrow to slits. “Okay, well—” she shrugs— “I’m just not sure she thinks that too—”

“Wait, what?”

“I _knew_ it.”

“Catra—”

She’s cackling now, head thrown back, teeth glinting in the light. But, she quickly composes herself and runs a hand through her hair in an attempt to make it lie flat again. “Uh, you should talk to her. About it.”

“No, I—” Scorpia can’t help but stutter. Her face is probably bright red right now. “I mean, I don’t know what to say and— and what if she doesn’t feel the same way?”

Catra’s ears flatten. “Well...” Pursing her lips together, she turns her head to face away.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t— it’s not—”

Why is it still so hard to talk about this? It— it shouldn’t be. All that fear and doubt should’ve been flushed away with an apology, a conversation, a dialogue, and yet it stays clogged in some artery somewhere inside Scorpia. Stagnant feelings, and yet they stick to the walls of her mind and she’s not really sure how she’s meant to push past the hurt. Because the feelings themselves, she’s past that, but the pain they caused her; that stays. That’s the whole reason she’s so scared of this thing, this wriggling scribble of warmth that manifests around Perfuma.

It’s because of Catra.

“It doesn’t matter,” Scorpia says. “It’s dumb anyway.”

“It’s not dumb.”

“But it’s— we don’t have to talk about it—”

Catra shakes her head. “We can if you want to. I mean, that’s what friends are for.” At that remark, she wrinkles her nose up and pulls a face. “Ugh, I sound like _Bow_.”

“What’s wrong with Bow?”

“Nothing, he’s just... you know.”

Scorpia blinks.

“Okay, well, we aren’t exactly—” fanning her fingers in an awkward manner, Catra gestures from her chest to the air in front of her— “alike.” And then, she mutters, “Fortunately.”

“Thanks Catra.”

“Huh?”

Shrugging, Scorpia finds her eyes glued to a growing crack in the ceiling. “Just, for trying.”

“Yeah, thanks for letting me,” she says, and hesitates. “Uh, thanks for making me realise I needed to.”

All those times, Scorpia thought she’d told Catra plain and simple that she loved her. She thought she couldn’t make it any more obvious, and yet she wound up leaving the Fright Zone with a sense she hadn’t told Catra anything at all. Her words were empty, all those promises to stay and belong and mean something, to matter, they were nothing more than that mangled little bird to Catra. What Scorpia didn’t realise was that she had done something. She made a difference, a tiny chip in Catra’s armour that spread, slow, until it was a gaping crack exposing her and everything she was really meant to be.

And she did that by dragging out her small piece of flatten courage, she did that by going against everything she’d ever been lead to believe, that compulsion; no, step on me again, please.

Scorpia leaving made a difference. It made a difference for Catra in a way that she’d always wanted, and she didn’t have to lose anything in return. In fact, all Scorpia did was gain. She’s here now, on the first mission of many in the process to rebuild her kingdom, hers, and she’s doing it with her friends. With people that love her, and not in some warped way that they can’t truly express, not in a way that is riddled with conditions.

“Hey guys—” and suddenly, Bow is materialising behind the pair and wrapping an arm around Catra’s shoulders which she immediately shrugs off, causing him to teeter slightly off-balance for a second— “you find anything?” he asks, even though he knows they didn’t, and it appears that he, Adora and Perfuma, who are trailing behind him, are empty handed too.

Catra scoffs. “No. Did you?”

“No,” Adora says, cheesing, drawing out the single syllable. A small, soft smile spreads across Catra’s face.

“And everything’s okay?” asks Perfuma, who isn’t being particularly subtle. To be honest, none of them are, but still. Catra exchanges a look with Scorpia, and it almost catches her off-guard.

But it doesn’t. It doesn’t. Scorpia nods. “Yeah, we’re fine.”

“I’d be more fine if you stopped leaning on me,” Catra says to Bow, who has reattempted to pull her into a half-hug of sorts. He’s just laughing though. Adora’s laughing too, and that causes Catra’s signature scowl to contort across her face and break out into another fond smile. Perfuma just grins at Scorpia and she feels... something.

Warmth.

On the journey back to Bright Moon, Adora keeps on bunching up the back of Catra’s hair between her hands into the tiniest ponytail Scorpia has ever seen. “You could totally put it up now,” she says, and Catra just rolls her eyes. Once Adora pulls her hands away, she brings her own up to the nape of her neck and rubs it in a way that reminds Scorpia of an all-too familiar itch.

But that’s a conversation for a rainy day.

When they get back, Bow says he’ll give the mission report to Glimmer and everyone silently acknowledges what he really means by that as he slinks away. Scorpia almost wants to just continue talking to Catra, soak up all of her glorious newness and reform, but Perfuma takes her by the claw and drags her out into the gardens promptly, mentioning something about how she wants to show her a thing. They weave between the rows of trimmed hedges and topiary, through the slightly more unkempt rose garden and up onto the terraced green, the one with the little balcony that overlooks the woods.

The sun is beginning to set. Those little golden spores of magic gilt the air, hovering in clusters over the canopy of the Whispering Woods. You can’t even see Plumeria from here, let alone the Fright Zone.

“So,” Perfuma says, leaning against the balcony railing, “how was today?”

Scorpia’s heart twists. Her eyes are wide and her smile is warm and she is looking at Scorpia like she’s worth something, like her voice matters. Of course she is. When has Perfuma not done that? “Yeah, yeah,” she smiles, “it was fine.”

“You and Catra talked?”

“Yeah. Uh, she apologised properly and we just...” trailing off, Scorpia sighs. It’s one of those hopeful, happy sighs though. “I don’t know. It was just nice, and it didn’t feel— it was different. In a good way.”

Perfuma smiles. “Good,” she says, and all of a sudden her hand is on the small of Scorpia’s back like that won’t give her heart palpitations, “I’m glad.”

“Uh, yeah.” Is she blushing? Scorpia hopes with her everything that she isn’t blushing right now. “How are you? How was your day.”

This makes Perfuma laugh. Oh, she seems to twinkle when she laughs, like the stars in the sky. “It was, uh, interesting. We didn’t really have that much to do so Bow suggested playing, like, charades or something—” and this makes her giggle to herself as if there’s some particularly hysterical inside joke related to it— “and, I mean it was fun. It was just... dumb.”

“That sounds nice.”

Maybe, just maybe Scorpia is leaning into Perfuma’s touch. She’s trying not to think about it, just squashing it all down, stepping on her own feelings because there’s no one else around to do it for her. It’s scary. Scorpia is scared. Perfuma has shown her nothing but kindness and love and yet Scorpia can’t help but worry it’s all going to pulled out from underneath her, she’ll think she finally has something and then lose it the next second. How can she ever be honest, or forward, when that is what lead her into this cycle of wanting and not wanting with Catra?

“I love the view here,” Perfuma says, twisting her torso to gaze out over the horizon whilst still leaving her hand where it now rests, comfortable. “It’s just so... it feels like home, I guess. It’s where we belong, you know?”

“It’s gorgeous,” Scorpia agrees.

Birds are flitting through the sky overhead, returning home to their nests in the last few hues of pink and orange before the sky turns dark for the night. From this vantage point, they can see yellowy lights beginning to be turned on in the windows of the lower castle. The surrounding lake ripples, and the susurrus of all those trickling streams that pool into it fills the silence. In fact, it’s so serene, so ethereal and perfect that Scorpia is too caught up drinking it all in to quite register what Perfuma says next.

“I think you’re gorgeous.” She continues, “I think that you’re one of the strongest, most wonderful people I know.”

And at first, of course, Scorpia thinks she’s misheard her. She must’ve. “I, um—” but she catches herself, because Perfuma is staring at her in a way she recognises. So imploring and open and... and ready. For once, Scorpia swallows her tongue and doesn’t hate herself for it.

_She really cares about you._

All of a sudden, Perfuma is cupping Scorpia’s face in her hand, and as the soft whorls of her fingertips press against her cheek, Scorpia can’t help but notice how hot she is. Flushed. Blushing like she’s never known an intimacy like this. And, maybe she hasn’t. Maybe she’s held and been held, even kissed and been kissed, but never like this. Not in a trembling and messy way, not as sweet and right and merciful as this.

And Perfuma’s lips are parted ever so slightly in a way that makes Scorpia’s breath hitch and her heart stop, as she tilts her head to the side, and her eyes— her pupils are dilated but she’s not meeting Scorpia’s gaze. No, she’s looking at her lips, and everything seems so agonising, as though time has slowed down just for this moment, the only moment that has ever mattered, just so Scorpia can remember it. She can remember something that mattered, not because it left her hurt or heartbroken or reeling from a false hope, no.

This matters because it is the first time someone has seen Scorpia say she would give them the moon if she could from her eyes alone, and given it back to her without having to be asked.

This matters because it is the first time Scorpia is chosen before anyone else.

This matters because it is the first time Scorpia loves someone, and they love her back exactly how she wants them to. 

For a second or so after Perfuma kisses her, Scorpia just stands there, wide-eyed, unable to let herself believe it’s actually happening. And then, she allows herself to have it, to melt into it and live it, feel it. It’s for her. This isn’t an act of Scorpia’s own love to please someone else, it’s not performative or unrequited, it’s the one thing she told herself she’d never actually have.

But then Perfuma pulls away and it’s all over, and Scorpia didn’t realise how much she’d leant into her touch, or how tight her small giggle made her chest. She’s smiling, and when she speaks honey might as well be pouring from her mouth. “I—” she clears her throat— “I love you,” she says, and it seems so easy.

Scorpia could cry. All she has ever wanted is to be someone’s everything, to be their moon and— the stars are beginning to glow brighter as the sky darkens and her heart is drumming out some sad old love song against her ribs, but it doesn’t make her feel the same way as it once did. 

“I love you too.”

Wrapping her arms around Scorpia, Perfuma pulls her into a hug and buries her face in the crook of her neck. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispers. “You are brave, and kind, and you’re still here after everything and that—” she takes the smallest of steps back and taps Scorpia on the chest— “that is a testament to how much love you have in your heart. How unafraid you are to be vulnerable around the people that matter.”

“I—” Scorpia takes a deep breath, and then just blurts out the first thing that pops into her head— “ _wow_.”

This makes Perfuma laugh.

“Thanks, Perfuma,” Scorpia says, knowing that her face is red and blotchy, that her eyes are roomy with tears and she’s got this fond, soft old smile on her face with her brows drawn together.

What Scorpia really loves about Perfuma is that she never feels the compulsion around her. She never has. Never once has Scorpia had to back-pedal and leave that offer open for Perfuma, that gracious offer to walk all over her in a valiant effort to make her feel better. All Scorpia has ever felt around Perfuma is warmth, and a sensation of overwhelming easiness.

Eyes trained on the ground, Perfuma takes Scorpia’s claws in her hands. “So,” she starts, “uh, would you maybe want to, um, kiss again? More frequently? On multiple occasions?”

Scorpia blinks.

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

“Oh—” and Scorpia laughs, relieved, overwhelmed, somewhere between those two— “yes. Yeah. Wow, gosh, yeah, absolutely. I’d really like that.”

A smile grows on Perfuma’s face. “You’re cute.”

“ _You’re_ cute.”

She laughs. “Those statements aren’t mutually exclusive, Scorpia.”

“I never said they weren’t.”

And Scorpia looks out across the Whispering Woods and she thinks— she thinks maybe belonging was never that complicated in the first place. She didn’t belong in the Horde, or complacent by Catra’s side. She doesn’t even belong at Perfuma’s. Scorpia belongs to herself first and foremost, and by doing so she will find other places to belong, found families that respect and value and _love_ her.

Tonight, there’s only one of many moons visible in the sky. They are familiar where the stars aren’t, they are what Scorpia has spent her whole life idolising as a gesture like no other. If she could give someone the moon, she would give them the moon.

Maybe she doesn’t need to.

Maybe, all this time, Scorpia didn’t need to do a single thing to earn someone’s love.

She just needed to believe in herself.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!!!!!!! in this household we want good things for scorpia and nothing else.  
> you can hmu on tumblr @wastelanddais!!!!! kudos and comments also mean the absolute world to me and im more than happy to ramble about my ideas with you!! thanks again!!!


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